


visions i had buried underground

by pyrophane



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breathplay, Choking, Consensual Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sparring, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:11:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9232292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrophane/pseuds/pyrophane
Summary: “We want the same things, don’t we?” Akaba says. Sweeping a hand out to encompass Shun, Serena, his study, the city falling away underneath their feet. Perhaps the entire world. “We have the same goals. We’re aligned, the three of us. You’ll understand that soon.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> back with more bad content! this is a canon divergence au set in early s1 where serena arrives in standard a little earlier, having heard rumours about xyz fugitives etc from some other random academia member, and is assimilated into LDS under reiji's charge just as shun was. yes, this decision was made purely to enable this fic scenario to happen. 
> 
> title from 'crush' by pendulum. once again for the ygo tl, to whom i owe my life.
> 
> content warnings: everything listed in the tags (in order of prominence in the fic), light exhibitionism, what could probably be construed as dubcon, and general skeevy power dynamics.

 

 

 

 

Serena has the access codes to Akaba’s study. This fact rankles, given that Shun does not, and he’s been playing house by Akaba’s rules for twice as long as she has. He scowls at the back of her head as she pushes the doors open and pulls him into the room, yanking his wrist free from her grasp the moment they’re past the doors; as usual, she ignores this.

Out of habit Shun takes stock: huge dark screens, a swathe of polished floor, the flimsy spiral of the staircase to the side, the massive, austere desk at the other end of the room. The back wall of the study is entirely glass, a ten-metre-long transparent rectangle looking out over Maiami City. From this height everything about it becomes insignificant, smudges of indistinct colour at a vertiginous distance. Shun’s stared down at the cityscape through the window countless times before, whenever Akaba brings him into the study to tell him things he already knows about the interdimensional war, until the lights blur into something else altogether and familiarity knifes at his stomach and he has to turn away before he throws up.

He’s looking at the window, the sky beyond bruising dark, when Serena shrugs off her jacket and tosses it onto Akaba’s desk. “Alright,” she says. “Let’s go.”

Shun fixes his eyes on her. “What?”

“You want a fight,” she says. She spreads her feet, leans forward, lifts her arms. All steely regimented exactitude, machinelike in her precision. “You were about to punch me back in the practice arena. So let’s fight.”

“In Akaba’s study?”

“You don’t care about breaking Reiji’s things and neither do I. Hit me.”

There’s only one answer to that. He lunges at her, fist swinging; she ducks and sweeps her leg out, and he sidesteps her to punch her in the stomach. Serena grunts, curves around the shape of the hit, and drives the heel of her palm into his chest. Impeccable follow-through. The force of it catches him by surprise but it’s hardly the worst he’s taken. He rallies and charges forward again and is rewarded with a dull crunch as his fist impacts bone. Blow to the ribs, answering blow to the knees and he rocks back, swipes at his mouth.

He used to be the best fighter in the Resistance, but his skills were borne out of necessity, the daily skirmishes of survival, and she’s Academia-trained, strength and finesse bred into her, and he’s never hated her more for it. For every hit he lands on her she lands two on him. She blocks a strike with fluid ease and backhands him, lit up with triumph like she’s soaking up the violence but he knows that isn’t it, there’s none of the unhinged manic glee he’s grown used to seeing from Academia soldiers in her eyes, only a brusque certainty in her own body’s motion, its brutality almost an afterthought. In another life he might have appreciated it. Here and now the outcome is the single thing that matters, and too late he realises she’s driving him backwards. He grits his teeth; he’d forgotten the constraints of a regular enclosed space, too accustomed to uneven footing, backalley escape routes. His back thuds into the glass wall.

Shun hisses, tries to twist away, but Serena jabs her elbow into his stomach and the breath rushes out of him in a harsh wheeze. Pain starbursts out from the blow, alchemises itself into white-hot sweetness, an unsteady liquid burn spreading upwards through his chest. Up close her control isn’t as faultless as it seems; he can see the beginnings of a bruise shadowing her cheekbone, the way she’s slightly favouring her right leg, the uneven rise and fall of her shoulders, a nimbus of strands shaken loose from her ponytail. He wants to dig his fingers into her ribs and tear her open. 

“You’re like me,” she says, in what could be either disgust or delight, and before Shun can ask her what she means or tell her that she’s wrong, that he’s nothing like her, she fists her hands in the lapels of his coat and presses her thigh between his legs and yanks him down to fit his mouth to hers. A sharp scrape of teeth, proprietary tongue. She kisses with all the viciousness absent from her fighting and if he didn’t know better he’d call it desperation. He bites down on her lip, swiping his tongue over the warm metallic rill of blood there, and she laughs against his mouth and shoves him back with enough force that the back of his head slams against the glass behind them, and he’s abruptly, embarrassingly hard.

Serena narrows her eyes, reaches down to grind the heel of her palm against his erection. “You’re into this,” she says. “I should’ve known,” and then she pushes her forearm against his throat, unzips his trousers and closes her hand around his cock.

Heat floods his body. “You—” he chokes out. “This is _glass_ —”

“Shut up,” she snaps. Her fingers move in precise, aggressive strokes down the length of his cock, that same grimly uncompromising focus she affords to crushing her opponents or polishing her duel disk or watching Akaba orchestrate his mysterious grand plan to end the war. She hasn’t secured his hands. He should dislocate her shoulder to stop her, wrench the joint apart; he has height and muscle on her and at this close a range it would be the easiest thing he’s done since he came to Standard. He doesn’t lift a finger. “We’re too high up, nobody can see us and you _like_ being seen anyway, I’m trying to—let me think—”

“Can you think faster,” he spits. She grazes her nails along the underside of his cock in retaliation and an inarticulate noise escapes his mouth. It’s with the last vestiges of his self-control that he stops his hips from stuttering forward into her grip but she notices the tremor anyway, exhales a quick, incredulous laugh.  

Serena lifts her arm away from his neck and he coughs, trying to remember how to breathe, and then she tugs his scarf loose and fits her hand against his throat and his cock jerks in her hand. His head falls back against the window and his eyes slip shut; he tries to steady himself with his palms against the smooth, cool glass, barrier between him and the world outside. The fingers on his cock still and Serena kisses him again, softer this time, very nearly gentle.

Without turning around, she calls, “So are you planning to just sit there and watch all day?”

Shun’s eyes snap open.

“I don’t have a preference either way,” Akaba says, seated in one of the visitor’s chairs on the other side of the desk, all placid and reasonable like he’s watching a presentation at a business conference. Fury shorts out Shun’s vision for a moment. He hadn’t heard Akaba come in even though Serena had, an unforgivable misstep that could have cost him his life back in—but he isn’t there anymore, and if he could just focus for a moment he’d be able to remember why he doesn’t want Akaba here, either, doesn’t want him to see him like this, but then Serena torques her wrist and the thought is sliced clean away.

“Then come over here and help me,” Serena says.

“If you insist.” Footsteps, measured and deliberate. Serena’s eyes flick up to Shun’s face and her breath hitches, just barely. “The city is beautiful tonight,” Akaba murmurs, into Shun’s ear. He presses an openmouthed kiss to the underside of Shun’s jaw.

“Fuck y—” he manages, before Akaba’s fingers join Serena’s on his cock and the rest of the word strangles itself into a broken whine. He shudders, bucks forward, but Akaba keeps his touch even, carefully light, won’t give him the friction he’s seeking. Instead, Akaba slides a knuckle along the curve of Serena's cheek and kisses her and her eyes shutter. When she opens them again her irises are dark and glittering and wild, and want strains like a living thing under Shun’s skin.

“Press down harder,” Akaba says, moving his hand to cover Serena’s grasp on Shun’s neck. The brush of another set of fingertips right over his carotid artery and he can’t stop himself from shaking, tipping his head back to bare more of his throat. Serena cinches her fingers tighter, and the world telescopes down to the hands moving over his cock, the grip on his throat, all the soft vulnerable parts of him exposed, breath coming shallower and shallower and each drag of skin on skin sparking feverish.

It’s too much. He throws an arm over his eyes, gasping out without sound. A hand closes around his wrist and tugs his arm back down but Shun keeps his eyes squeezed shut. Fingers at his throat and on his cock and heat so intense he’s sure he’s disintegrating, burning up, a signal flare everyone in the city below can see.

“Look at me.” It’s soft but undeniably a command, syllables cracking out like a whip. Without thinking Shun opens his eyes, meets the infuriatingly unruffled calm of Akaba’s gaze, just as his thumb flicks deliberately over the head of his cock and Serena’s fingers tighten vindictively at his throat and he can’t breathe at all, he _can’t breathe_ and in the hazy distance someone’s mouth is on his and someone is saying _keep your eyes on me_ but all he can see is Akaba, everything else in shadow and his entire body alight with panic or desire or desperation. He arches up off the glass and comes, vision screaming white, and for a single moment the world goes blank.

Then he’s heaving in huge sucking gulps of air, the pressure at his throat lifted all at once and the world tilting back into place. He tips forward and two pairs of arms steady him. There’s a faint divot between Serena’s eyebrows, almost as though she’s concerned. Beside her, Akaba is smiling, nearly imperceptible, a slight upwards quirk of the lips. Shun looks away. Heartbeat by heartbeat he wrenches his breathing into order and within minutes he’s regained his composure, control, but it’s only a veneer. They’ve seen him at his most vulnerable; they have held his life in their hands and against every instinct he's let them. He can no longer pretend he isn’t just as much Akaba’s tool as Serena is, now.

The intimacy is appalling. It feels like a betrayal of everything he’s staked his life on, of the red fabric dangling loose and limp around his neck; to his absolute horror heat stings his eyes. He tilts his chin up and swallows furiously past the ache in his throat.

“Are you—” Serena starts, then clenches her jaw and averts her gaze. She makes an abortive gesture towards Shun’s shoulder.

Shun bristles. He shakes off the hands keeping him upright, bracing himself against the window instead. Beneath him the city that is not his own glitters and rumbles, unknowing, contented, whole. When he’s sure of his voice he turns to face Akaba. “Is this some kind of game to you?” he demands. Too hoarse; he winces despite himself, sets a hand to his throat.

“Of course not,” Akaba says, blandly professional, as if his hands hadn’t been on Shun’s cock five minutes ago. 

“Then what is this supposed to be?” It’s Serena who says it, not Shun. He glances at her in surprise; she’s shifted her body slightly, angling herself in front of him like she’s shielding him. The gesture is so much like Ruri he has to shut his eyes against it for a moment, the old grief sheeting down, glass and light.

“We want the same things, don’t we?” Akaba says. Sweeping a hand out to encompass Shun, Serena, his study, the city falling away underneath their feet. Perhaps the entire world. “We have the same goals. We’re aligned, the three of us. You’ll understand that soon.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on [tumblr](http://delineative.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/ennezahard)! this fic is on tumblr [here](http://delineative.tumblr.com/post/156621706015/fic-visions-i-had-buried-underground).


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